


What he’s been through

by RussianCaravan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Canon Compliant, Drug Dealing, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison, Prostitution, Suicidal Thoughts, implied stancest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianCaravan/pseuds/RussianCaravan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the many years on the road, Stanley Pines has been through a lot, only a fraction of which is explored in canon. This is the story of Stanley Pines from the summer of 1978.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a still night in the late summer of 1978. Stanley Pines stood in an alleyway outside a run-down bar in a small semi-rural town in Texas, only twenty miles north of the Mexican border. He blew out a puff of cigarette smoke and watched it dissipate in the air, keeping an eye on the bars door, and once it opened he got to work. He eyed three young men as they left the bar, one of whom nodded and followed as Stan led them further into the alleyway to be concealed further in darkness.

“Watcha selling?”

“Just coke.”

“How much?” Stan noticed they nervous look in his eye, and his nice, unscuffed leather shoes.

“10 bucks a gram.” Over his normal price, but not by much, these guys could clearly afford it. They exchanged $30 for three grams and Stan waited as the young men scrambled off in youthful excitement. After a cursory glance around the block Stan took out another cigarette and went back his spot leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. He pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie to relieve some of his sweating, but he didn’t dare take it off yet, not this far south. That was how most exchanges went- most. But just by looking at him, Stan could tell this guy wasn’t most customers. Instead of stumping out his cigarette, Stan heaved in a large lungful while his eyes stayed locked to the man’s eyes and his hands unzipped his hoodie, revealing a very tight stripped singlet. Stan turned around and walked slowly while taking off his jacket and showing how the denim gripped his ass. Much further down the alleyway, he stopped, and found the man had followed him.

“How much you charge darlin’?”

“$30 an hour of whatever you want.”

“You fine with having a cup of tea?”*

“Got a stall in the park round the corner that practically has my name on it.” With a smirk they walk as nonchalantly as possible down the street.

“Not the safest business to be in down here.”

"Oh, don’t I know it.” Stan reflectively reaches for scar on his left ribs, a ‘gift’ from a group shouting some bible verse at him in Mississippi last year. Desperate to change the topic, Stan quickly puts on a the confident façade he’s mastered over the years

“What’re you looking for tonight?”

“I haven’t fucked a nice twink in a while, some head and then some ass please.” Stan felt a bit of unprofessional blush come to his cheeks, most of his clients were nowhere near as kind. He smiled back at the man.

“Happy to oblige.” As they walked into the urine-smelling public bathroom. The small talk stopped abruptly and Stan pulled the man into the stall furthest from the door- ‘his’ stall. They kissed, but it was harsh and passionate and hardly lasted a moment before Stan’s head was being eased to his crotch. After undoing his large belt-buckle, the man’s fingers curl through Stan’s long and unruly hair, and Stan hurries along. After years of practice, Stan is adept at easing out large cocks and getting straight them into his mouth, which based on the above mans pleasured moans, is a great skill to have. It wasn’t long before Stan felt the man rocking into his mouth, at which point he allowed his face to be fucked; his gag reflex now so desensitised it hardly affects him at all. It doesn’t take long- based on only the mild cramping in Stan’s knees on the concrete floor- for him to cum down Stan’s throat.

“You’ve got a great mouth” he says catching his breath as he leans against the stalls door.

“Just wait till you try my ass.” He smirks and Stan pulls a bottle of lube out of one of the many secret pockets of his jacket and takes off his own jeans.

“You wanna get me ready or shall I?”

“I think I’d like to watch you.” Stan merely smirks as he sits on the toilet lid and opens his legs displaying his hard cock and asshole to the man. He squeezes lube onto his fingers and slowly begins circling himself, making sure the lube is thick on his skin, before slowly inserting a digit. It’s been a few days since his last client. By the time Stan has three fingers inside of himself his client is hard again.

“Any position preference?”

“I’ve always been a doggy-style man.” Stan positions himself so his hands can lean on the toilet seat and so his ass is near the man’s cock, and he thrusts himself in. It takes longer this time, he even jerks Stan off as he fucks him. Stan could almost imagine it was someone who cared about him, someone with an extra finger on each hand. Of course- it wasn’t him, it was a nameless man, and that was made very apparent when as he started speeding up his thrusts he whispered “John.”

Stan just ignored the name- this was his job after all. When he’d finished, the man pulled $35 out of his wallet and handed it to Stan as he pulled his jeans back up.

“I thought you deserved a little extra.” He smiled and walked off into the night.

Stan headed back to the bar and his spot near it and continued selling coke to the occasional customer for three hours after that like nothing had happened. The only sign it had was the remaining wetness between Stan’s cheeks. By the time a pretty young woman with an afro had bought two grams of off him, he had enough to pay back Rico and make a decent profit on top of the $35 he made on the side. After a stretch he made his way into the bar itself. The smell of tobacco and hardwood hit his nose and he sat down at the barstool breathing in the atmosphere that he had grown so used to over the many years on the streets. He tapped his fingers to the newest records playing faintly in the background as he watched a drunken and overly-competitive game of pool. By his fourth drink- two of whiskey and two of beer- he was feeling relaxed and happy- but it wasn’t quite enough. Alcohol just didn’t have the kick that he really craved anymore. So he headed into the bathroom- where one man was heaved over the toilet vomiting god-knows-what- and took out his own personal gram of coke. After a few lines he felt great! A renewed energy surged through him as he out the door and practically skipped out the door and re-joined the bar. Not long after-which, a man with greying hair and a determined face walked right up to Stan.

“Hey man, do you know where I can uh” he gestured for Stan to come closer “get some coke?”

“Sure buddy, just come out back and I can make you a good deal.” There was a small part of Stan that felt suspicious of this man, but he felt too good to let the guy down, but that part screamed when he walked outside and immediately felt the familiar sting of handcuffs around his wrists.

“You’re under arrest, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-“


	2. Painful memories and new consequences

“Stan?” Fords arms were holding him tightly as his head resting on Stan’s chest. They smelled of sweat and cum as they lay on an old mattress on the bottom of the Stan-o-wars underfloor cabin. The still half-completed ship creaked occasionally in the spring breeze on the water, and the light of an orange sunset fell onto the couple through the spaces between the wooden planks. “Stan?” he repeated in a more desperate tone.

“Is there something wrong Stanford?”

“We can’t- we can’t keep doing this Stanley. Not-“ He stopped for a moment, as if he was about to cry “not anymore.”

“What brought this on? Stanford?” He sat up, pulling Ford up with him, tenderly holding Fords face in his hands “what did I do wrong?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong Stanley. I love you, so much. Too much. That’s the problem. We can’t live normal lives if we keep doing this. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to love anyone as much as you-“

“How’s that a bad thing?”

“Bad? It’s horrid Stanley! Do you have any idea what they do to people like us? Incest is illegal. Sodomy is illegal. We could both be thrown in jail, or thrown in an institution or- or killed in the streets by our own neighbours. That’s just what happens to homosexual men, I can’t even imagine what they might do to us!” He stopped, and continued again more quietly “I love you so much Stanley, so we need to stop this now, before we get too attached and won’t be able to stop.” Tears flowed down both their cheeks and Ford pressed his forehead to Stan’s.

 

“Stop stalling faggot, get up!” Stan’s reminiscing was interrupted by the shout from one of the police, tugging him up from the concrete floor of a holding cell. The sudden force turned Stan’s alcohol-filled stomach and he felt himself throw up a mixture of bile and alcohol onto the floor. The officer dropped him and Stan fell face-first into his own vomit, now mixing with blood from his possibly-broken nose. “Disgusting.” He was roughly picked up, this time by the shoulders, and walked out of the cell into the sheriff’s office. The sheriff himself was an older man- about mid 60’s- with visibly balding hair and sunglasses despite the darkness of the room, which made him look far too much like his father for Stan’s comfort.

“I’ll be frank,” Stan visibly cringed “your situation is grim with these charges there boy. Drug-dealing is one thing, but soliciting two officers? That’s a whole other kettle of fish.” Stan groaned, oh how he wished he hadn’t have been so stupid and plastered last night.

 

The sirens were too loud Stan’s heavily clouded mind as he was handcuffed and taken to a police car, he tried to resist, but had his face slammed into the car roof for his efforts- which made matters so much work. He had gotten too used to being rough-handled by his clients, so his mind immediately went into aggressively flirtatious mode.

“Like it rough huh? I can get into that.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Dirty talk too, even better, I guess that isn’t just a gun in your pocket huh?”

“You filthy queer, I’ll teach you to say that kinda shit to around here.” He could feel the familiar press of a gun to his back- a few years ago that was an average Saturday evening routine for Stan in the rough side of Mexico. Not that he could have given a shit either way, a bullet was fast and some nights that’s all he wants, all he can think about.

“Jeff what the fuck are you doing? There’s a camera right there!”

“This cheap little queer is trying to make passes at me.”

“Only if you pay for them- I ain’t that cheap.” Stan’s drunken-self laughed internally, but was quickly silenced with another slam of his head onto the cars roof.

“What’s the problem? We’ve got him on dealing, sodomy, prostitution, and public menace. Get him in the car and ignore it. You know you can’t have another black spot on your record.” With a huff, the first officer shoved Stan into the backseat and almost slammed his foot in the door. As they drove away into the early morning sunrise, Stan glimpsed the hood of the Stanley-mobile perched in the park under a tree. He hoped it was still there when he got back- whenever that may be.

 

Stan felt like slapping himself, mentally and physically, for all the stupid shit he pulled last night. Stan felt the sheriff’s eyes on him even if he couldn’t see them through his glasses. “Normally, you’d be heading off to a trial that would send you straight to prison. But I have a great deal for sympathy for cases like yours, and I’m willing to make you a deal."

“What- what kinda deal?” Stan swallowed as he tried to keep his stomach bile escaping again.

“My daughter’s a doctor, she works in an institution 16 miles north of town. I can have you transferred to the mental institution to be examined and treated for your illnesses” Stan shut his eyes in annoyance and disgust- he wasn’t sick “rather than thrown in jail.” Stan’s eyes opened again, and now he sat shocked and confused. This was exactly what Stanford had warned him about all those years ago. He wasn’t quite sure what happened in those places, but he knew his brother was petrified of them. And on the street he’d heard…stories. None of which were pleasant. But neither was jail- and Stan wasn’t sure he’d survive another stint in there, not with what they did to him last time:

“What a good ass- fuck just like that slut” They said while he was grabbed at all sides, roughly handled, his mouth opened forcibly and his arms pines behind his back. He was already covered in bruises and cuts from their previous torture. He’d just gotten out of a week’s solitary, and _they_ wanted him again. And again. Stan had long ago given up trying to fight them off- it only ended up being even worse. He’d always bleed heavily, and the guards would never intervene. One guard even joined in his torture sometimes, calling him by his wife’s name and accusing him of being a cheating bitch. He felt worthless- hopeless- he even tried to escape knowing he’d be shot on sight. What he’d have given for that bullet to have pierced his heart instead on his hand, of which a scar still remains.

 

Stan hadn’t felt this unsure of himself and what his life had in store for him since he was kicked out at 18 with only a car, a bag of clothes, and $15 to his name. Should he go back to the devil he knew? Or should he choose a different path, even if that path was one his brother had warned him of all those years ago?

“So, which is it? Jail or the institution?”

“The institution.” Stan blurted out, in fears if he didn’t say it immediately he would back out. The sheriff gave a smirk that was in no way comforting.

“Excellent choice son, you’ll be leaving this afternoon.” Stan cringed again, and felt a hit of fear come over him, what had he done to himself this time?

**Author's Note:**

> *"having a cup of tea” is old-timey slang for having sex in a public toilet. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, there is a 90% this will have several chapters.


End file.
